JC-NRLF 


LIBRARY 

OF    THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


Class 

/3fe?  q 


WITHOUT  A  NAME 


i>t&er  Poems 


BY 


EDWARD    BLACKMAN 


SAN  FRANCISC 

THE  WHITAKER  AND  RAY  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 
1901 


COPYKIGHT,  1901, 

BY  EDWAKD  BLACKMAN. 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

WITHOUT  A  NAME 5 

VARIED  LEAVES 33 

SHADOWS 35 

REST-LAND 38 

SNOWING  AT  NIGHT 39 

GLIMPSES 40 

To  THE  CLASS  OF  '96 42 

FANCIES 45 

THE  OLD  YEAR 47 

OLD  MAN  IMPULSE 49 

THE  MEMBERS  OF  THE  YEAR 58 

KISSED  HIS  FROWN  AWAY 60 

TO-NIGHT 62 

BLOTTED  PAGES 64 

TOYS 66 

THE  CROWD 68 

THE  LAST  MEMBER 73 

THE  SENIOR'S  DREAM 76 

Do  NOT  HIDE  THY  TEARS 79 

IN  DREAMLAND  . .  .82 


118980 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE  HERMIT'S  EARLY  MORNING  REVERIE 85 

Do  NOT  TREMBLE 92 

THE  STATUE  OF  FOLLY 93 

To  96 

A  SONNET 98 

SEPTEMBER 99 

SMILES 100 

MY  GUERDON 102 

THE  WAY  or  LIFE 106 

A  VOICE  RETURNED 108 

THE  SAND-LILY 110 

Two  HANDS 112 

Do  BE  JOLLY  . .  .115 


WITHOUT  A  NAME, 

AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

WHO  has  not  seen,  at  some  exalted  hour, 
A  youth  approaching  there  the  throne  of 

fame; 

But,  e'er  he  reached  it,  stricken  in  his  power, 

And  laid  within  his  grave  without  a  name, 

While  men  of  evil  deeds,  devoid  of  shame, 

Still  kept  to  Earth  and  tried  to  find  no  truth, 

Nor  wished  a  good  and  only  sought  to  maim? 
Ah,  world,  why  then  is  this?  —  poor,  blameless 

youth ! 

Has  not  God  taken  him  to  shield  him  from  thy 
ruth? 


WITHOUT  A    NAME. 


You   smiled   to   watch   him  from   your  humble 

height, 

Slow  climbing  up  the  rocky  gorge  of  fate ; 
As  toiling  upward  through  the  murky  night, 

Fair  dawn  beheld  him  fallen  'neath  his  weight. 
Ah!    then  you    moved  to  help    him,   but  —  too 

late: 
The  word  was  spoken ;  we  had  lost  a  man  — 

Yes,  that  and  more  —  a  beacon  at  the  Gate, 
That  would  have  signaled  others  as  they  ran, 
And  lit  the  road  where  walks  a  heaven-aspiring 
clan. 

So  well  it  is  that  some  one's  friendly  voice 

Should  sing  of  him,  who  ne'er  had  time  to  tell 
The  wondering  world  the  pictures  of  his  choice. 

O  muses  kind !  come,  help  me  sing  it  well ; 

Pour  in  from  every  deep  and  wooded  dell 
Thy  conscious  strain ;  for  nature  had  decreed 

This  anxious  youth  should  cripple  to  his  cell ; 
So  more  the  worth,  and  more  the  crying  need 
To  lift  his  virtues  higher  and  praise  each  little 
deed. 


WITHOUT  A    NAME. 


Yet,  how  can  I,  with  this  poor  lisp  of  mine, 
Whisper  the  thought  to  find  a  willing  ear? 

When  that  the  hurrying  dragon,  o'er  the  line 
Of  kindliness,  is  crowding,  through  the  year, 
Soul  after  soul — I  cannot  make  them  hear. 

This  is  the  song  of  one  forsaken  youth : 
Why  should  they  care  for  this  memorial  tear? 

Why  should  they  pause   beneath  the  dragon's 
tooth, 

To  listen  to  my  dirge,  wrhere  life  's  a  dirge  in  truth. 

Still  comes  the  thought  that  some  one  moving  by 
May,  through  a  gain  of  time  before  this  day, 

Have  this  spare  moment,  and  will  not  deny 
The  soothing  voice,  and  sympathetic  sway 
Of  listening  kindly  to  what  memories  say. 

Old  memories  and  sad,  unsung  so  long ! 
But  I  can  only  briefly  sing  and  play 

Those  only  which  must  rise  up  into  song ; 

Those  only  that  may  touch  and  still  will  not  pro- 
long. 


WITHOUT  A    NAME. 


Into  the  vast  beyond  he  seemed  to  gaze, 
Seeking  a  light  of  which  he  caught  the  gleam, 

And  yet  so  faint  and  clouded  with  such  haze, 
It  left  a  doubt  along  its  misty  beam, 
Glooming  his  life,  yet  filling  it  with  dream ; 

Until  the  real  became  unreal ;  unreal 
The  shroud  of  truth,  that  would  soon  seem 

A  life  in  resurrection,  when  the  peal 

Of  high-rung  rousing  bells  should  waken  it  to  zeal. 

O  world !  in  life  there  is  so  much  to  learn ! 

O  world !  in  death  there  is  so  much  to  lose ! 
What  scarcity  of  wisdom  can  we  earn  — 

0  God !  with  but  so  little  time  to  use ! 

And  what  a  dangerous  coffin  we  may  choose ! 
There  on  a  cliff  I  see  the  morning  glow, 

And  on  the  vapory  verge  an  ended  cruise  — 
From  clouds  an  angel — Satan  from  below  — 
Out  portals  and  the  gulf  they  race,  and  neither 
know. 


WITHOUT  A    NAME.  9 

How  dread  the  deep  and  dark  uncertainty ! 

How  peacefully   sweet    the    faith  in   something 
real! 

So  real  because  of  perfect  sympathy  — 
Because  of  perfect  trust  in  what  we  feel 
Is  simple  truth  we  never  can  conceal. 

What  wild  regret,  to  heap  a  sinner's  load 
And  follow  on  till  sudden  stars  reveal 

A  lone,  forsaken  shepherd's  wrecked  abode, 

Upon  the  crumbling  steeps  of  purgatory's  road. 

So  he  would  ponder  o'er  the  creeds  of  life, 

Seeking  divine  within  their  formal  word ; 
Still  were  the  doubts  in  demon  numbers  rife, 
Crowding  the  bridge  and  through  the  darkness 

heard, 

Until  confusion  whispered,  "  All  have  erred." 
With  soaring  mind,  he  'd  rise  above  it  all, 

And,  looking  down,  behold  great  truths  inferred 
From  those  same  doubts  —  and  still  the  sacred 

call 

Comes  from  the  peaks  of  truth,  not  where  their 
shadows  fall. 


10  WITHOUT  A    NAME. 

He  lifted  up  a  pleading  face  to  Him  — 
A  single,  lorn  appealing  of  despair  — 

When  hope  of  life  was  growing  pale  and  dim, 
As  if  he  thought  that  death  was  hardly  fair, 
Then  settled  back  upon  his  pillows  there  — 

He  gasped  and  sighed,  and  quivering,  breathed  no 

more. 
Ah,  tearless  eyes,  to  see  that  vacant  stare, 

Where  once  a  hope  was  shining  at  the  door ; 

Where  oft  the  noble  tears  came  pouring  o'er  and 
o'er! 

Bitterest  tears  !  —  when  at  some  careless  thought, 
As  life  was  slowly  shifting  toward  the  bar, 

The    "Might  Have   Beens"  his   sadness   haply 

caught, 

And  spread  them  o'er  the  blue,  so  clear  and  far, 
When  climbing  up,  as  some  forgotten  star, 

A  sorrow  starts  upon  the  deep  blue  plain, 
And  shadowing  clouds  come  rolling  in  to  mar 

The  lovely  sight  and  prove  it  all  in  vain :  — 

Sad  tears!  regretful  tears!  that  fall  as  scalding 
rain. 


WITHOUT  A    NAME.  11 

Strange  thoughts !  when,  on  some  darkened  eve, 
The  angry  battle  clouds  did  scud  acrost, 

We  tried  to  make  our  shadowed  minds  believe 
Some  lingering  hope  remained — as  though  we  'd 


A  ringing  coin  for  life  and  death — and  lost, 
Yet  turned  the  coin  with  trembling  fingers  up 

To  view  its  hidden  side.    Alas !  the  cost 
Seemed  darker  than  before ;  the  last  sweet  sup 
Of  life  had  passed  his  lips  and  left  an  empty  cup. 

A  sufferer  at  dawn  of  life,  he  laughed 

E'en  while  a  sting  had  pierced  his  tender  frame ; 
Or  lisped  a  baby  prattle  as  he  quaffed 

From  out  a  bitter  flagon  without  name. 

Doomed  from  his  birth  to  right  a  sickly  shame 
That  dropped  beside  some  ancient  road  of  wrong, 

Where  he,  entangled  in  its  coil  of  blame, 
Must  drag  it  to  his  weary  doom  along  — 
Along    this    time-cursed   highway,    walled   with 
maniac  song. 


12  WITHOUT  A    NAME. 

Full  many  a  slip  and  many  a  treacherous  fall 

Along  this  path  would  blind  his  soul  with  dark, 
Wherein  are  shrieks ;  and  wretched  demons  call 

From  out  the  gloom  ;  and  ghostly  Terrors  bark ; 

And  underneath,  the  white  skull,  cold  and  stark, 
Of  some  lost  traveler,  meets  his  tender  palm ; 

And  fleshless  fingers  on  the  blackness  mark 
One  hellish  portent,  smoothing  into  balm, 
With   dangerous   promises   of  rest  and  definite 
calm. 

But  out  of  this  would  struggle  to  his  East 
The  first  liquescent  lights  of  glimmering  morn, — 

Far  from  the   lapping   shore   where  storm  has 

ceased 

To  break  upon  the  crags  of  life  forlorn  — 
And  leave  his  land  to  wave  its  leaves  of  corn. 

Thus  from  the  mire  and  ghostly  habitude, 
He  'd  lift  his  tired  spirit,  waste  and  worn ; 

Cast  off  the  touch  of  chilling  fingers  rude, 

And,  rising,  bid  his  heart  to  take  a  merrier  mood. 


WITHOUT  A    NAME.  13 

I  mind  him,  maimed,  so  often  left  behind 
In  childish  play,  and  hear  his  crying  "  Wait," 

Then  I  with  others,  trying  to  be  kind, 
Would  pause  a  little  'neath  impatient  fate, 

But    soon    some   onward   shout  —  too   late  —  too 
late  — 

Would  waver  in  upon  the  boyish  brain, 
And  we  would  leave  him,  left  without  a  mate ;  — 

His  urgent  pleading  cry  and  mental  pain, 

Forgotten  in  our  joy  as  summer  winter  rain. 

But  when  the  joyous  impulse  ran  its  race, 

Some  kinder  heart  would  'long  his  path  return 
To  find  him  weeping  silently  —  his  face 
Bedewed    with    hopeless    tears,    but    such    that 

spurn 

This  one's  forgetful,  selfish  made,  concern, 
Ah,  years !  slipped  through  the  waiting  noose  of 

Time  — 
Flashed  golden  through  and  on  life's  flowered 

Urn  — 

I  think  from  out  the  nightly  angel  rhyme, 
I  see  that  pleading  Wait  and  hear  its  chorus 
chime. 


14  WITHOUT  A    NAME. 

Kind  visions  helped  him  as  he  limped  along, 

Intent,  perhaps,  on  some  pure  boyish  theme. 
Contented  now,  he  'd  hum  some  simple  song, 

And  conjure  up  his  pretty  toys  in  dream ; 

And,  dreaming,  glide  upon  a  rippled  stream, 
Out  through  a  happy  land,  where,  strong  of  arm, 

He  'd  lightly  touch  the  oar,  and  see  the  gleam 
Of  grace  in  fairy  forms,  and  feel  the  charm 
Of  Naiad  voices  in  their  chorusing  alarm. 

The  river  Hope,  with  banks  of  evergreen, 

Is  lovelier  still  within  the  brain  of  youth ; 
Red  roses  by  its  lapping  shore  are  seen, 

And  fairy  dimpled  beings  and  no  ruth, 
Among  the  higher  leaves  of  conscious  truth, 
He  pulls  the  Naiad  boat  with  painless  oar ; 
Peers  through  the  crystal  tide  from  cushioned 

booth 

To  find  an  underworld  with  open  door, 
So  beautiful  and  rare,  't  is  no  Plutonian  shore. 


WITHOUT  A    NAME.  15 

Thus  borne  apart  from  cramped  reality, 

Beyond  the  dangerous  verge  of  troubled  seas, 

He  would  forget  the  world's  partiality 
And  win  a  share  of  life's  immortal  ease, 
In  dreaming  midst  a  fairyland  of  trees. 

Then  to,  the  silvered  haze  along  the  dale 
At  early  morn,  would  press  the  hidden  keys 

Into  a  silent  song ;  the  piping  quail 

At  sunrise  strike  the  beauteous  chords  that  never 
fail. 

So  passed  aloof  those  lorn  prevenient  days  — 
Life's  village  school — where  dawn  of  knowledge 

broke 
Through  morning  mists,   with   ever-brightening 

rays 

That  lit  the  mountain  passes  and  awoke 
A  million  voices  that  arose  and  spoke 
To  him  a  hidden  recitation  kind, 

Filled  to  the  last  with  wisdom  to  provoke 
The  highest  thought  from  out  his  teeming  mind 
And  flash  its  brightness  forth  to  aid  the  stumbling 
blind. 


16  WITHOUT  A    NAME. 

And  yet 't  was  not  the  deeds,  but  prophecy, 
That  gave  so  fair  a  promise ;  as  the  moon, 

When,  on  across  a  sultry  summer  sky, 
Now  hid  behind  dark  clouds,  gives  notice,  soon 
In  silver  fringe  to  bring  a  lovely  noon. 

So  had  that  curtained  lamp  in  flashes  shone, 
All  sudden  through  a  tattered  rift,  a  boon 

To  soul- wrecked  eloquence  —  apart — alone 

Was   hidden — as  the  blackened  edge  was  frin- 
ging—gone. 

Remembrance  keen  of  one  triumphant  hour 

Would  serve  to  show  a  dazzling  glimpse  of  all — 
The  Class  Farewell.     He  rose  in  kingly  power 

And  won  applause  of  silence  —  great  and  small ; 

A  wondering  spirit  whispered  through  the  hall ; 
A  wonder  burst  from  out  those  weary  days 

Of  silent  suffering ;  crowded  to  the  wall. 
All  rose  to  ponder ;  went  their  devious  ways ; 
But  not  till  overflowing  hearts  had  left  their  praise. 


WITHOUT  A    NAME.  17 

God  knows  that  many  a  lash  was  wet  that  night, 
As  flashed  again  the  image  of  that  boy, 

Alone  upon  one  shrunken  limb  of  right, 
To  strive  in  pain  to  paint  another's  joy, 
Whilst  a  low  moan  did  constantly  annoy.  — 

Our  lives  are  letters,  scribbled  o'er  with  pain 
And  printed  over  this  a  laughter  coy ; 

We  read  the  laugh  aloud ;  reserve  the  stain, 

For  better  light  of  tears  within  our  shadow  lane. 

Yet  once  again  the  mind  oblivious  wake 

To  echoes  drawn  from  slumbering  days  of  yore. 
'T  was  then  he  made  the  conscious  spirit  shake. 

The  whitest  thoughts  that  echo  evermore 

Awoke  the  deeds  of  patriotic  lore. 
How  startled  was  the  rustic  mountaineer 

And  city  guest  at  freedom  polished  o'er ! 
That  long  had  lain  within  its  wintry  bier, 
Unburnished  and  untouched  —  now  washed  with 
many  a  tear. 


18  WITHOUT  A    NAME. 

Alas !    The  while  he  touched  our  very  hearts, 
The  gaunt  hound,  Sorrow,  cringing  at  his  side, 

Would  lap  his  hand  in  those  triumphant  parts, 
To  let  him  know  his  faithfulness,  denied 
By  transient  ripples  in  the  flowing  tide 

Of  praise  and  shout  and  clasp  of  friendly  hands. 
Be  sure  he  bid  the  cur  to  crouch  and  hide ; 

But  its  fidelity  forever  stands 

To  howl  and  moan  upon  the  ghostly   seashore 
sands. 

High  was  the  spirit  which  did  bear  him  on 

To  action  greater  than  his  strength  withstood, 
For  he  would   conquer  when   his   strength  was 

gone; 

His  Would  in  life  was  stronger  than  his  Should. 
Bright  were  his  fires  that  burned  for  earthly  good, 
And  yet  to  him  were  torture  and  distress ; 

High  were  his  passions  in  life's  brother hcoi, 
And  yet  in  him,  consumed  without  redress 
The  joys  and  hopes  and  loves  within  his  wilder- 
ness. 


WITHOUT  A    NAME.  19 

How  painful,  too,  the  sting  of  Cupid's  arrow — 
How  tipped  with  rank  and  poisonous  despair ! 

And  yet  at  first,  how  covered  up  this  sorrow 
With  new  impassioned  flowers,  unaware 
Of  needle  thorns  beneath  the  fancy  fair. 

He  plucked    them    leaf  by  leaf,  —  each  petaled 

bloom ; 
No  friendly  breeze  could  waft  a  warning  care, 

Till  every  cup  had  poured  its  sweet  perfume 

And  stinging  pain  revealed  the  wounding  thorns 
of  doom. 

As  round  and  round  the  lamp  at  eventide 
The  wanton  miller  risks  a  burning  grave, 

And  circles  near  and  nearer,  undefied ; 
So  did  his  reason  circle  as  a  slave 
Around  his  love  without  a  hope  to  save. 

Those  smiles  were  smiles  of  pity,  not  of  love — 
Despised  compassion  on  a  glittering  glave 

He  reached  a  hand  and  found  an  empty  glove, 

And  drooped,  as  do  the  wings  of  some  lost  weary 
dove. 


20  WITHOUT  A    NAME. 

He  drooped — but  roused  again  with  closer  clasp, 
And  better  brace,  that  keeps  us  from  the  slip ; 

Set  firm  his  soul  and  struggled  in  the  grasp 
Of  strong  remorse — that  gladiator's  grip 
Stern  effort  conquered ;  had  him  on  the  hip, 

And  for  a  moment  stood  in  high  disdain ; 
Then  gathering  all  his  force  beneath  the  whip 

Of  Godly  resolution  and  the  pain, 

He  flung  his  victim  clear  and  turned  to  laugh 
again. 

You  who  have  felt  the  all-inspiring  thrill 
Throb  to  the  heart,  go  rushing  to  the  brow, 

And  crackle  till  the  fire  consumes  the  will : 
Just  here  as  you  have  learned  another's  vow 
Has  sealed  a  weary  doom  forever,  now. 

With  quivering  feature,  totter  to  the  gate, 
And  pass  alone  to  your  dark  chamber ;  bow 

Your  dizzy  head  until  the  hour  is  late 

To  think  of  his  deep  woe— then  rise  to  bear  your 
fate. 


WITHOUT  A    NAME.  21 

Long  closed  and  still  are  mortal  wings  in  death. 

While  lifted  out  to  fan  the  breath  of  God, 
They  wearied,   drooped,  and   sank  for    want  of 
breath 

From  flight  so  vain  above  a  swampy  sod. 

Yet  if  beneath  some  high  inspiring  nod, 
He  sings,  what  gentle  music  flows  to  him ! 

All  filled  with  magic  strikes  the  tuning  rod, 
So  grandly  chorded  with  the  Seraphim, 
While  I — ah  me!  —  reach  out  with  tears — too 
faint  and  dim. 

Too  faint  and  dim ;  for  when  the  bounden  tongue 
Seeks  to  express  that,  which  the  heart  would 
feel. 

Vain  arms  that  through  the  city's  mists  are  flung, 
Resemble  this,  when  in  a  drunkard's  reel, 
So  wildly  reached,  man  totters  to  his  heel ; 

Grasps  at  the  ivy  clinging  to  a  wall, 
But  tears  a  tattered  leaf.    So,  though  we  kneel 

With  every  pleading  muse,  or  call  and  call 

Across  the  silent  seas,  we  stumble  to  our  fall. 


22  WITHOUT  A    NAME. 

Deep  moved  as  thought  within  a  higher  sphere — 
Not  understood — and  that 's  the  life  of  all — 

The  far-off  music  wafted  to  us  here 
We  can  but  hold  an  earward  hand  to  call 
But  one  sweet  strain  our  own ;  we  tiptoe  tall 

To  peer  above  an  image  wall  of  tune : 
Beneath  our  feet  the  sod  sinks,  and  we  fall 

Down  to  the  foot,  Despair,  where  fancies  swoon, 

Or  sing  a  faint  remembrance,  dying  to  a  croon. 

Speak  to  the  winds  where  phantom  ships  are  sail- 
ing— 

Perhaps  upon  that  gilded  prow  's  the  face 
That  left  before,  with  drooping  wings  a- trailing, 

Our  farewell  tramp  beside  this  hallowed  place. 

The  snow  was  falling,  flake  by  flake,  apace ; 
The  wind  of  March  was  blowing  bleak  and  chill ; 

The  stealthy  wheel  had  left  a  deepened  trace, 
While  climbing  up  the  ghost-encumbered  hill  — 
A  frost  e'en  at  the  grave,  we  left  him  to  His  will. 


. 

WITHOUT  A    NAME.  23 


Lie  on,  base  creed,  with  every  beating  breath, 
That  with  an  ancient  tongue  of  withering  hate, 

Would  claim  a  death  or  torture  after  death 
For  such  as  he,  who  bravely  bore  the  weight 
Of  burdens  worse  than  torture  -to  the  Gate. 

May  sound  the  heart  of  such  a  slanderous  tongue, 
And  paint  a  cruel  picture  of  his  fate : 

This  only  from  the  heavenly  roof  is  rung ; 

Thus  only,  from  their  mouths  I  could  have  sadly 
sung : 

0  kindred  soul  within  your  throbbing  city !  — 
With  wings  that  flutter  upon  a  pool  of  hell — 

Lift  pleading  eyes  and  send  a  shriek  for  pity ; 
But  you  shall  not  receive  it :  on  you  dwell 
Eternal  torture  as  the  Records  tell. 

Fall  back  with  puffing  lips  acurl  in  pain, 
And  that  loved  brow  ridged  deeply,  or  aswell 

With  bursting  vessel :  falls  the  scalding  rain : 

And  so  renew  your  strength,  and  so  renew  your 
strain. 


24  WITHOUT  A    NAME. 

What !— this,  I  plead,  and  there  a  God  of  love? 

Untrue ;  the  folly  buried  in  the  shame 
Will  point  a  warning  finger  up  above 

And  say :  Unguided  malice  is  to  blame 

For  sending  such  a  messenger  of  flame 
On  out  among  the  stars  to  wander  here. 

A  Godly  voice  of  pity  must  proclaim  : 
No  judge  of  man  shall  rule  a  throne  of  fear, 
But  reign  with  parent  love  and  whisper  word  of 
cheer. 

Yet  this  fair  youth,  though  virtuous  and  clean, 
Had  never  learned  to  tread  the  narrow  trail, 

Where  old  interpretations  haply  glean 
A  misty  light,  far  up  a  shadowed  vale, 
Which  keeps  retreating  as  their  spirits  quail. 

White  ships  aglow  sailed  o'er  his  shadowed  main ; 
White  truth  of  love  had  served  his  Holy  Grail ; 

White  stars  of  hope  lit  up  his  darkest  plain ; 

But  wrinkled  creeds  of  old  had  printed  not  their 
stain. 


WITHOUT  A    NAME.  25 

Think  you  that    God    would    crumple    up    his 
thought 

And  thrust  it  forth  into  a  filthy  phrase? 
Soar  higher,  O  you  mortal,  surely  fraught 

With  puffed   importance,   blind   with   gloomy 
haze 

Of  hoarded  superstition ;  lift  your  gaze 
Toward  the  high-moving  worlds  and  there  to  scan 

The  aged  suns  —  the  words  of  broader  ways. 
Come,  people  them  with  wonder,  if  you  can, 
To  feel  the  sense  of  God  and  live  a  larger  man. 

And  wander  not  so  wanton  o'er  the  range 
And  down  some  deep  Yosemite :  His  sigh 

Is  broad,  not  moved  to  malice  or  revenge 
Upon  His  suffering  babes,  because  they  cry 
For  love,  and,  not  receiving,  wander.    I 

With  you  and  every  one  hold  but  the  signs 
In  each,  of  some  deep  purpose,  or  a  lie 

Is  resting  in  each  word  of  nature's  lines ; 

And  all  we  see  and  hear  is  mocking  our  designs. 


26  WITHOUT  A    NAME. 

Stoop  not  unto  the  groveling  dust  to  seek 

The  truth  in  some  weak  chronicler  of  time — 
The  history  of  petty  deeds  and  weak 

Vain  slanders  on  a  Worthiness  sublime. 

Unchain  the  raging  mind  to  every  clime, 
And  let  it  wrander  with  the  elements  — 

The  atom  and  the  world,  and  hear  the  rhyme 
Of  universal  poetry's  defense, 
In  rousing  soldier  song  from  out  the  battlements . 

Move  with  the  surge  of  seas,  upon  the  shores, 
Beyond  the  myriad  gaping  gulfs  of  space. 

Wing  on   your   wandering   flight   to   where  the 

roars 

Of  mightier  winds  than  ever  blanched  the  face 
Of  vain  and  transient  mortal,  sweeps  the  place. 

Where  sea- wide  rivers  roll  and  glance 
Between  the  league-high  foliage,  and  the  grace 

Of  wondrous  trees  and  beauteous  plants ; 

Where  live  the  inconceivable  inhabitants. 


WITHOUT  A    NAME  27 

Perceive  the  broad,  deep  possibilities, 

In  thought  and  deed,  of  one  all-powered  mind. 
Take  hold  of  kinder,  mightier  sympathies, 

And  leave  this  cramping  prejudice  behind. 

Come,  follow  not  the  halting  and  the  blind, 
Unto  the  verge — precipitous  despair ; 

Build  you  a  noble  mansion,  where  you  find 
A  sweeping  vista  onward,  and  prepare 
To  help  to  work  and  win — we  do  not  know  nor 
care. 

Too  faint  and  dim.    Now  down  the  morning  wall 

The  golden  line  steps  softly  to  the  lawn, 
And  burns  with  hope  the  level  sweep  of  all ; 
Then  dims,  and  toward  the  evening  side  steals 

on. 

There  glows  in  paling  blushes  and  is  gone — 
Gone  into  dusk  and  into  night's  alarm  — 
The  mournful  whip-poor-will,   whose   note    is 

drawn 

As,  unto  life  or  unto  death,  a  charm — 
In  dreams  of  dreams  I  fall,  and  clasp  a  dreamer's 
arm. 


28  WITHOUT  A    NAME. 

In  dreams  of  dreams,  and  through  it  all  it  seems 
The  voice  of  him  I  praise  will  talk  to  me, 

To-night  or  else  to-morrow  night,  in  dreams. 
A  voice  speaks  from  the  shadow :  "  You  will  see 
Him  pass  this  way — and  singing  merrily." 

So  in  a  trance,  I  peer  out  with  delight, 
In  trust,  and  hope,  and  all  sincerity, 

Until  the  dawn  is  dropping  with  its  light, 

The  bars  of  morning,  and  I  wait  another  night. 

Truth  breathes  upon  the  walls  down  there, 
Far  to  the  east,  beside  my  bowered  gate  — 

Truth  in  gold  from  out  the  evening  air, 
Read  from  above,  by  watchers  on  the  wait, 
And  laid  upon  the  even  scale  of  fate. 

Now  floods  the  stilly  air  with  spirit  song ; 
The  happy  echoing  stars  resound,  elate ; 

Athwart  the  moon  I  see  the  shadowed  throng 

With  laughter  pass  and  pass,  and  troll  the  troop 
along. 


WITHOUT  A    NAME.  29 

I  lean  far  o'er  my  castle  window  case, 

And  listen  with  a  trembling  ear  intent, 
For  one  white-draperied  fancy  stooped  apace, 

And  whispered :  "He  is  passing."   On  she  went. 

E'en  as  I  scan  the  dome-walled  firmament, 
With  every  nerve  astartle,  flits  a  form 

Aslant  the  golden  disk.     Up  through  a  rent, 
Torn  through  a  rolling  portent  of  a  storm, 
I  see  his  spirit  soar  and  lead  the  beauteous  swarm. 

How  well  I  know  that  highway  leads  to  heaven, 
Though  just  beyond  the  rolling  rifted  cloud, 

Was  built  a  road,  afoam  with  risen  leaven, 
And,  close  beside,  a  demon  in  his  shroud, 
Who  swings  aloft  a  sign,  in  letters  loud, 

With  sulphurous  meaning :    "  HO  !    THIS   WAY 

TO  HELL  !  " 
There  for  a  moment  pause  the  heavenly  crowd, 

To  seek  for  footprints  on  the  seething  swell, 

Then  all  with  laughter  pass,  each  singing:  "All 
is  well." 


30  WITHOUT  A    NAME. 

Dream  flies  with  morn.    The  wind  goes  rushing 

by; 

The  gum  tree  tops  and  cottonwoods  bend  after ; 
A  flock  of  bluebirds  float  their  passage  high, 
Till  all  too  fast,  they  follow  on  with  laughter. 
The  broad  Umbrella  lets  the  straight  winds  waft 

her, 

Or  writhes  within  a  whirl's  enfolding  arm ; 
The  old  house  cracks,  with  many  a  warping 

rafter, 

Reminding  me  with  half  a  ghostly  charm 
Of  times  when  other  ears  could  hear  the  swift 
alarm. 

I  close  my  door,  as  comes  a  stormy  eve, 

And  seek  the  gaze  within  this  picture-frame ; 
The  world's  unlit  conditions  seem  to  grieve 
For  light  beyond  our  weakly  human  flame. 
And  in  this  blind  beginning  of  the  game, 
We  cry  to  one  who  played  it  to  the  end, 
Although  the  bout  was  short  and  still  and  lame, 
Withal  to  teach  and  help  us  to  contend — 
To  drive  our  courage  on  to  battle  and  defend. 


WITHOUT  A    NAME-  31 

And  in  these  firm  and  grace-set  features,  I 

See  strength  and  courage,  as  to  brave  a  storm — 
The  stern  head  poised,  as  if  to  win  or  die, 
And  large  bold  eyes,  yet  flashing  deep  and  warm 

With  sympathies,  if  seen  in  honest  form. 
How  meet  it  is  that  I  should  turn  to  these 
To  ask  one  fearful  question  of  the  swarm 
Of  queries  that  I  dare  not  try  to  please, 
Though  just  to  hear  them  echoed  brought  eternal 
ease. 

An  answer  to  that  question,  I  have  waited 

These  years,  to-night  expectant  of  reply, 
And  as  the  gloom  is  gathering,  sore  belated, 

A  sharp  distress  would  ask  the  reason  why. 

Hush !  —  in  the  wind  I  hear  a  stifled  sigh  — 
As  if  to  part  a  pathway  in  the  dark  — 

I  write  on  fast  —  't  will  surely  not  deny  — 
Alas !  I  am  mistaken  —  and  a  spark 
Of  hope  is   smothered  by  a  voice  that  bids  me 
hark: 


32  WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

Come,  lift  your  wearied  eyelids  from  the  page, 
The  lashes  wet  with  a  hopeless  dash  of  tears : 
The  poet,  prophet,  saintly  priest,  or  sage 
May  only  ask  a  question  of  the  years, 
And  never  get  an  answer  to  their  fears. 
Peer   through  the  gloom,  out  o'er  the  wharf  of 

time — 

Just  hear  the  water  lapping  at  the  piers — 
The  roar !  the  roar !  but  nothing  else  sublime  — 
All  's  black,  so  come  away  and  let  the  waters 
rhyme. 


VARIED    LEAVES.  33 


VARIED  LEAVES. 

WAFTED  hither  by  the  breeze, 
Where  I  sit  beside  the  stream, 
From  the  gnarled  old  autumn  trees, 
They  are  falling  in  a  dream. 

Some  are  floating  in  the  air, 
More  ambitious  than  the  rest : 

Lifted  higher,  wavering  there, 
Slowly  downward  to  their  nest. 

Some  are  floating  on  the  stream, 
Like  a  soul's  unconscious  glide, 

'Neath  the  shadow  and  the  gleam, 
To  the  music  of  the  tide. 

Some  are  lying  round  in  heaps 

In  the  hollows  of  the  vale, 
As  a  deadened  life  that  sleeps 

After  feeble  efforts  fail. 


34  VARIED   LEAVES. 

But  across  the  stream  I  see, 
Caught  upon  some  lilies  white, 

One  lost  leaf  of  vanity 
Basking  in  the  fair  sunlight. 

It  attracts  the  gaze,  and  holds 
Rapt  attention  from  my  eyes ; 

For  it  seems  that  it  unfolds 
Half  my  own  realities. 


SHADOWS.  35 


SHADOWS. 


I  sit  this  lonely  evening 
By  the  fireside  here  within, 
With  the  fire  that  just  is  kindled 
Creeping  upward  out  and  in  : 

And  the  firelight  falling  on  me 
Throws  a  flickering  over  all, 

While  the  objects  all  around  me 
Cast  their  shadows  on  the  wall. 

Here  I  sit,  before  me,  staring 
At  the  pictures  on  the  wall, 

All  my  soul  within  comparing 
With  the  shadows'  rise  and  fall. 

As  they  waver  back  and  forward, 
Up  and  down  ,  and  to  and  fro  ; 

So  the  feelings  now  within  me 
Rise  and  fall  and  ebb  and  flow. 


36  SHADOWS. 


Like  the  sad,  uncertain  firelight 
Are  the  hopes  I  dare  to  own ; 

Like  the  shadows  'cross  the  pictures, 
'Cross  these  hopes  are  shadows  thrown. 

And  I  think,  and  muse,  and  ponder : 
Ponder  long,  at  times  despair : 

Ponder  o'er  the  world's  ambitions 
And  the  fruit  that 's  hidden  there. 

Now  I  'm  borne  by  fancy's  transport 
Up  the  mount  of  care  and  toil ; 

Leave  behind  the  blackest  shadow, 
Think  no  more  of  world's  turmoil. 

But  those  shadows,  dark  and  gloomy 

As  they  are  upon  the  wall, 
Spread  across  my  pleasant  vision 

Like  a  black  and  dreaded  pall : 

For  the  fire  has  smoldered  lower — 
Scarce  a  gleam  the  coals  allow, 

Covered  o'er  with  smothered  ashes :  — 
Nearly  all  is  shadow  now. 


SHADOWS.  37 


There  I  see  before  me  looming 
Still  that  mount  of  fame's  turmoil : 

Shining  heights  above  the  darkness 
Only  reached  by  constant  toil. 

Though  the  fire  may  burn  yet  brighter, 

Still  the  shadows  ever  fall ; 
Till  the  lamp  above  is  lighted 

They  '11  keep  flitting  'cross  the  wall. 


38  REST-LAND. 


BEST-LAND. 

HAVE  you  not  longed  for  spectral  lands  of 
yore, 

Flooded  with  mellow  light,  down  by  a  sea, 
With  waves  that  never  break  tumultuously, 
But  lap  with  low  laughter  the  quiet  shore, 
Where  spirits  pass  who  passed  here  years  before, 
Young  and  content,  and  echo  restfully 
The  laughter  of  the  rippling  waves  to  me — 
As  music  from  another  life  passed  o'er? 

Have  you  not  dreamed  of  hope  to  gather  here 
The  choice  of  yours  beside  you  from  the  strife — 

Oblivious  quite  of  malice,  greed,  and  fear — 
Unto  a  summer  dawn  of  peaceful  life, 

To  feel  the  pulse  and  hear  the  rhythmic  flow 

Of  what  we  cannot  see — we  cannot  know? 


SNOWING  AT  NIGHT.  39 


SNOWING  AT  NIGHT. 

9  ri  1  WAS  in  past  years,  but  brought  to  memory 

yet— 

Under  the  roof  of  home,  we  hear  the  rain 
Soft  pattering  from  the  dark  against  the  pane, 

And  know  the  world  is  dripping,  dripping  wet. 

So  close  beneath  the  roof  our  couch  is  set, 
No  note  within  that' musical  refrain 
But  soothes  the  ear  with  lullabies  of  rain. 

And  calming  sleep  the  years  cannot  forget, 

Comes  nestling  down ;  but  when  we  wake  again, 
We  hear  no  sound  of  dripping  from  the  eaves, 

Save  muffled  drops  that  fall  but  now  and  then ; 

Yet  mind  a  rustling,  as  of  far-off  leaves, 
Or  of  night's  curtain  shifting,  soft  and  light, 
And  know  the  snow  is  falling  through  the  night. 


40  GLIMPSES. 


GLIMPSES. 

COME  out  and  away  from  the  city's  breath, 
My  friend,  before  the  night ; 
Come  up  into  the  hills  with  me 
And  watch  the  eagle's  flight. 
Mount,  mount  to  the  highest  peak 

And  see  him  higher  still ; 
And  then  look  back  on  the  crowded  street 
And  think  just  what  you  will. 


Now  sit  you  down  upon  this  stone 

And  feel  the  cool,  proud  winds, 
As  fresh  as  those  to  the  tropic  cheek 

That  blow  through  the  tamarinds. 
Peer,  peer  through  the  simmering  heat 

Far  out  o'er  the  scorching  plain, 
And  feel  again  that  towering  heights 

Are  not  at  all  in  vain. 


GLIMPSES.  41 


Now  hie  away  to  the  woods  with  me : 

We  '11  follow  this  deep  ravine 
Till  wild  with  a  snort  the  startled  buck 

Goes  lunging  down  the  scene. 
Crash,  crash  through  the  underbrush ;  — 

Far  down  the  vale  is  he ; 
The  sun  has  slipped  from  the  western  hill 

And  you  are  alone  with  me. 


It  had  snowed  all  night, 

And  the  bushes  drooped ; 
And  the  great  tall  trees 

With  their  shoulders  stooped, 
Like  some  old  man 

With  his  whiskers  gray, 
Awaiting  his  call 

And  the  judgment  day. 


I  saw  some  birds  'neath  the  bushes  sit 
With  their  feathers  fluffed  as  to  weather  it ; 

And  one  sweet  bird  on  a  post-crown  sat, 
And  cheeped  and  cheeped  on  account  of  that. 


42  TO   THE    CLASS  OF  '96. 


TO  THE   CLASS  OF   '96. 

SO  rise  and  fall  the  billows  of  our  lot :  — 
When  flowers  bloom  and  wither,  and  the 

frost 

Of  winter  in  the  blazing  sun  of  summer  is  forgot, 
You,  Class  of  '96,  will  then  have  tossed 
Aside  the  rules  of  knowledge,  and  have  lost 
Their  many  pleasures,  but  a  life  step  gained. 
Then  as  the  fleeting  days  of  fate  are  crossed 
By  hope  and  doubt  and  fear  —  't  is  thus  ordained  — 
You  '11  turn  a  backward  thought  on  school  days 
that  have  waned. 

The  tolling  bell  as  't  marked  the  study  hour, 

And  yet  again,  as  't  told  the  time  of  play, 
Became  a  joyous  sound,  as  from  its  tower, 

Unmuffled  tones  pealed  out  from  day  to  day ; . 

The  martial  lines,  drawn  up  in  strict  array, 
And  soldier  march  became  a  hidden  pride : 

The  beating  drum  that  timed  the  steps  so  gay  : 
All  these  sweet  charms  to  you  will  then  have  died ; 
Will  seem  the  greater  loss  when  they  are  so  denied. 


TO  THE  CLASS  OF  '96.  43 

Not  to  forget  those  dear  old  books :  we  read 

And  honored  them,  and  dived  in  darkness  deep 
To  unknown  depths,  and  raised  as  from  the  dead 

Those  priceless  pearls,  which,  gathered,  serve  to 
keep 

The  memory  fresh  when  we  are  laid  to  sleep. 
Then,  too,  those  smiles  of  various  meanings  true  : 

Of  friendship,  honor,  yea,  Cupid's  doubtful  peep 
To  seek  a  heart's  mate  e'er  his  bow  he  drew, 
And  yet,   still  yet,  withheld  to  send  his  arrow 
through. 

In  that  broad  scope  of  recollection  dear, 

Perhaps  some  sad  remembrance  softly  steals ; 
At  mention  of  a  heartfelt  name,  a  tear 
May  speak  to  that  kind  heart  that  feels 
Of  time,  when  clear  were  heard  those  measured 

peals, 
Another  face,  that 's  now  beneath  the  sod, 

Beamed  back  the  light  the  kindled  soul  reveals : 
The  name  still  clings  with  friends  who  onward 

plod; 

The  soul  has  flown  above,  and  nobly  works  with 
God. 


44  TO   THE    CLASS  OF 


So  rack  the  brain  and  sternly  knit  the  brow ; 

Thread  on,  O  friends,  this  labyrinthian  way. 
I  would  not  grieve  that  some  lost  member  now 

Has  taken  from  this  field  his  aid  away. 

What  power  drives,  we  may  not  know  to-day ; 
And  yet  to-morrow  glows  some  wondrous  lamp, 

Relit  from  eons  by  this  hand  of  clay, 
Lighting  the  world,  and,  too,  the  onward  tramp 
Of  universal  armies,  through  the  ages  damp. 


FANCIES.  45 


FANCIES. 

OH !  how  swiftly  pass  those  visions, — 
Like  some  fleeting  swarm  of  birds  ; 
Pass  those  fancies  and  illusions, 
Far  too  transient  for  our  words. 

Though  we  seek  by  struggling  efforts, 

So  to  catch  some  fairy  strain, 
We  get  nothing  for  that  striving 

But  our  hearts  dashed  full  of  pain. 

Still  they  come,  lit  up  with  brightness :  — 
We  shall  trace  them  down  alone— 

Ah !  but  now  their  light  has  faded, 
And  these  words  are  dead  as  stone. 

Like  some  cold,  white  marble  statue 

Looking  deathly  on  and  on, 
They  are  left  as  faint  reminders 

Of  the  something  that  is  gone. 


46  FANCIES. 


And  the  heart  turns  cold  and  shivers, 
Fearing:  — wondering  as  time  rolls, 

If  these  dim,  still,  passing  visions 
Are  not  transmigrating  souls. 


THE  OLD   YEAR.  47 


THE  OLD  YEAR. 

THE  wind  blew  cold  — 
The  year  was  dying, 
The  year  hoar  and  old 
On  his  death-bed  was  lying. 

His  thin  drawn  cheek 
Looked  ghastly  and  white ; 

He  scarcely  could  speak 
On  that  deep,  still  night. 

So  deathly  and  chill, 

As  if  broken-hearted, 
He  gasped  with  a  will, 

And  his  last  breath  departed. 

But  list  to  those  sounds ! 

'T  is  the  ringing  of  bells ! 
'T  is  the  barking  of  hounds 

And  the  tolling  of  knells ! 


48  THE   OLD   YEAR. 


The  night's  people  shout ; 

The  whistles  are  blowing ; 
The  churches  cry  out 

To  the  New  Year  bestowing 

Their  praise  and  their  hopes 
For  the  joy  he  is  bringing, 

As  onward  he  gropes 
Till  in  age  he  is  clinging 

To  life,  like  the  one 

Who  gives  his  last  breath 
And  all  he  has  done 

To  the  new  in  his  death.  — 

The  old  year  is  dead ; 

The  new  one  is  born ; 
And  all  the  great  dread 

Has  passed  with  the  morn. 


OLD  MAN  IMPULSE.  49 


OLD  MAN  IMPULSE. 

JUST  around  the  bend  from  our  house, 
In  a  hut  there  by  a  roadside, 
Dwells  an  old  man,  David  Impulse. 
Bent  and  feeble,  gray  and  shaken, 
Is  this  man  of  many  follies ; 
Yet  he  toils  in  fearful  struggle 
'  Gainst  the  wolf  that 's  near  the  doorstep : 
Wields  the  axe  and  falls  the  timber ; 
Splits  it  well  in  slender  stove-sticks ; 
Piles  it  high  in  tiers  well  corded ; 
Toils  and  groans,  and  waits  for  buyers. 
Has  no  food  as  yet  to  live  on  — 
Only  that  which  neighbors  give  him, 
Cooked  upon  a  fire  that 's  builded 
On  the  ground  beneath  the  heavens. 

Many  stories  he  can  tell  you 
Of  his  life,  with  all  its  follies. 
Of  his  boyhood  days  so  joyful ; 
Of  his  youth  so  wild  and  roving ; 


50  OLD  MAN  IMPULSE. 

Of  his  travels  and  adventures ; 
Till  so  warming  with  his  subject 
He  forgets  the  world  around  him ; 
He  forgets  he  's  old  and  feeble ; 
Lives  again  his  life  of  impulse ; 
Treads  again  the  path  of  boyhood : 
Tells  that  once  alone  he  wandered 
From  a  fond  and  loving  mother ; 
From  his  dear  home  to  the  ocean ; 
Of  his  sailing  and  its  wonder. 
Then  a  tempest  came,  and  shipwreck, 
And  upon  a  raft  of  splinte'rs 
Floated  he  with  just  five  others. 
Day  by  day  they  floated  onward, 
Till  fierce  hunger  mastered  manhood ; 
And  the  boy's  flesh  young  and  tender 
Crossed  the  wild  thoughts  of  the  others. 
When  he  heard  their  eager  whispers, 
Caught  their  tiger-looks  of  fierceness, 
Would  have  plunged  into  the  water, 
But  they  caught  and  lashed  him  firmly 
To  the  splintered  raft  to  share  him. 
But  just  then  the  heavens  thundered, 
And  the  waves  dashed  high  in  anger, 
Till  from  off  the  buoying  timbers 


OLD  MAN  IMPULSE.  51 

Then  each  man  was  washed  and  swallowed 
By  the  great-mouthed  waves  of  ocean. 
Then  a  great  ship  found  the  outcast, 
Bruised  and  faint,  and  him  attended, 
Till  at  last  with  eager  longing 
He  was  homeward-bound  to  mother ; 
But  he  found  she  had  been  buried 
In  the  old  churchyard  of  silence. 

To  Peru  his  story  takes  you ; 
To  the  land  where  bold  Pizarro 
Found  the  country  ruled  by  Incas ; 
Found  it  rich  in  gold  and  silver ; 
Found  it,  conquered  took  the  Inca : 
Ruled  himself  in  pride  and  splendor, 
Till  his  comrades,  waxing  jealous, 
Slew  him  in  his  house  of  plunder. 
Oh  !  this  struggle,  blindly,  madly, 
Just  for  gold,  is  sure  to  murder 
All  the  soul  and  heart  and  body 
Of  each  man  that  has  no  other 
Hope  and  aim  and  trust  in  living. 

Now,  he  tells  you,  in  that  valley 
Are  a  people  easy-going, 


52  OLD  MAN  IMPULSE. 

Who,  not  rich  in  beads  nor  wampum, 
Live  a  life  of  sweet  contentment ; 
For  the  cause  of  life  within  them 
Grows  upon  the  trees  around  them. 
There  in  forests  grows  the  orange 
And  sweet  peaches  and  bananas, 
And  the  bread-fruit  grows  in  cluster. 

Once  he  loved  and  wooed  a  maiden 
In  this  happy,  prosperous  valley ; 
Wooed  and  won  a  beautiful  maiden. 
They  were  wed,  and  started  westward 
On  the  mule-backs  of  the  mountains, 
O'er  the  wild  and  rugged  Andes ; 
Wound  their  way  among  the  ledges, 
In  and  out  among  the  ledges, 
Till  a  sound  like  thunder  heard  they 
Rumbling  downward  from  the  passes. 
Just  across  their  trail  it  thundered : 
Struck  the  mule  the  maid  was  riding : 
Struck  and  carried  them  far  downward 
To  a  death  so  dread  and  ghastly 
That  he  stood  in  sickening  horror : 
Stood  and  gasped  and  groaned  in  horror. 
Then  he  searched  with  eager  longing  — 


.xx 

OLD  MAN  IMPULSE.  53 


Searched  in  vain  to  find  her  lying 
In  some  cavern.     She  had  fallen 
Far  beyond  the  earthly  finder, 
Lost  to  all  except  her  heaven 
And  the  ministry  of  angels. 
Long  he  wandered,  bent  with  grieving : 
But  in  time  the  wound  grew  over, 
Buried  deep  beneath  the  striving 
Of  the  world  with  all  the  others. 

Then  he  wandered  into  Chili, 
Down  into  the  mines  of  silver, 
Into  mines  of  hoarded  copper, 
Where  no  light  of  day  does  enter ; 
Where  they  work  from  morn  till  nightfall 
And  from  nightfall  to  the  morning, 
Hardly  ceasing :  only  stopping 
For  their  food  and  sleep  so  needful, 
While  the  others  take  their  places. 
Thus  they  dig  with  pick  and  shovel 
By  the  light  of  lamp  or  candle ;  — 
Dig  from  out  the  earth's  recesses, 
For  the  use  of  all  the  nations. 
Copper,  silver,  in  abundance. 
With  what  burdens  some  are  loaded 
For  the  ease  of  other  shoulders ! 


54  OLD  MAN  IMPULSE. 

These  are  ever,  ever  toiling 

Without  thought  or  dream  of  pleasure : 

Toiling  onward  in  the  darkness, 

Like  so  many  moles  of  shadow ; 

Working  brain  out  into  muscle : 

Working  soul  out  into  body, 

Till  there  's  naught  but  clay  to  molder. 

Once  a  slave  had  worked  for  freedom 
In  these  mines  of  hoarded  silver : 
Worked  for  twenty  years  for  freedom. 
Till  at  last  the  days  were  numbered, 
Till  at  last  the  day  was  numbered, 
And  he  clambered  up  the  ladders, 
With  a  heart  so  full  of  throbbing 
That  it  stopped  short  as  the  sunlight 
Kindled  up  his  hopeful  features, 
And  he  fell  back  in  the  darkness ;  — 
Gained  his  freedom  at  the  portals — 
At  the  portals  of  the  heavens, 
By  the  ministry  of  angels. 

Next  he  sails  upon  the  high  seas 
With  a  crew  of  sturdy  smugglers. 
You  the  listener ;  he,  the  captain 
Of  this  valiant  band  of  rovers, 


OLD  MAN  IMPULSE.  55 

Tells  a  story  of  adventure ; 
Tells  a  story  you  must  hearken : 

With  two  ships  of  secret  treasure 
Boldly  sailed  these  rough  freebooters, 
When,  on  looking  far  to  westward, 
Where  the  great  red  sun  was  setting, 
There  across  its  disk  was  flitting 
One  black  vessel,  then  another — 
Still  one  more  —  a  threatening  number. 
Well  he  knew,  this  captain  smuggler, 
Of  the  portent  in  those  vessels ; 
But  a  braver  band  of  outlaws 
Never  sailed  a  stormy  ocean 
Than  this  rover  and  his  comrades. 
WTheeling  then  toward  the  westward, 
Straight  toward  the  coming  warships, 
Sailed  the  wild  crew  into  battle. 
Soon  the  booming  of  the  cannon 
Roared  across  the  surging  waters, 
Till  the  echoes  from  the  heavens 
And  the  echoes  from  the  ocean 
Met  and  fought  another  battle, 
Never  stopped  they  for  the  slaughtered 
Till  they  reached  the  belching  warships ; 
Till  they  lashed  the  ships  together. 


56  OLD  MAN  IMPULSE. 

Fought  they  then  with  sword  and  cutlass, 
Hand  to  hand  and  man  to  man, 
There  they  fought  in  desperation, 
Thrusting,  beating,  cutting,  stabbing, 
Moaning,  groaning,  howling,  cursing, 
There  upon  the  decks  they  struggled ; 
But  the  smugglers  were  the  stronger ; 
Back  the  others  slowly  wavered, 
Till,  exhausted,  they  surrendered, 
And  the  pirates  were  triumphant. 
But  the  battle  was  not  ended : 
On  the  captured  bleeding  vessel, 
Sent  for  safety,  was  a  fortune  — 
Was  a  hoard — a  million  dollars. 
Soon  a  rover  found  it,  held  it 
High  in  air,  and  shouted  madly. 
Then  a  comrade,  waxing  jealous, 
Drew  his  sword  and  thrusting  killed  him ; 
Then  like  tigers  at  a  slaughter, 
Like  the  beasts  of  Koine's  arena, 
Losing  all  their  sense  of  honor, 
Closed  the  comrades  in  a  struggle : 
For  the  smugglers  and  the  captured 
Mingling  in  this  sordid  mele"e. 
Fought  like  wildcats  on  the  mountain, 
Fought  and  died  to  gain  a  fortune ; 


OLD  MAN  IMPULSE.  57 

Fought  and  died  till  all  had  perished ; 
On  the  decks  were  dead  and  bleeding, 
Save  alone  the  smuggler  captain. 
There  he  stood  in  wondering  horror, 
Gasping,  panting,  at  the  masthead, 
With  the  riches  in  his  clutches. 
Wet  with  blood,  each  bond  was  ruined. 
Long  he  gazed  upon  the  money, 
Then  around  upon  his  comrades. 
What  is  this  to  me?  he  shuddered ; 
For,  my  God !  I  cannot  use  it, 
And  the  law  would  sure  reprove  it. 
So  he  gazed  and  deeply  pondered 
On  the  havoc  spread  before  him, 
And  to  free  a  demon  notion, 
Tossed  the  burden  on  the  ocean : 
And  the  battle  there  was  ended. 

With  the  ending  of  the  battle, 
As  he  told  it  in  excitement ; 
So  the  old  man  sank  with  faintness. 
And  I  know  not  of  the  future 
Of  the  vessels  that  were  captured. 
As  these  stories  now  are  ending, 
So  the  old  man's  life  is  blending 
Into  death,  where  it  is  wending, 
Slowly,  surely,  onward  flowing, 
To  another  world  is  going, 


58  THE  MEMBERS  OF  THE   YEAR. 


THE   MEMBERS   OF  THE  YEAR. 

THERE  are  pleasures  in  each  member  - 
In  each  member  of  the  year, 
From  the  nebulous  November 
On  to  August  brown  and  sere. 

From  those  stark  winds  in  December, 
Blowing  bleakly  through  the  trees ; 

To  those  soft  sighs  in  September, 
Whispering  peace  among  the  leaves. 

And  the  blown  snows  coming  later, 
Whirling  downward  through  the  air, 

Stir  the  soul  to  action  greater  — 
Full  of  strength  and  not  despair. 

So  the  February  weather 
Sings  in  through  its  wintry  arch ; 

There  's  a  tone  of  music  ever 
In  the  romping  winds  of  March. 


THE  MEMBERS  OF  THE   YEAR.  59 

True,  we  start  at  April  thunder, 
When  the  lightning  hands  perform 

As  though  tearing  hills  asunder  — 
Grumbling  with  their  load  of  storm. 

Yet  a  few  such  startled  hours 

They  are  folded,  all  is  still ; 
Lo !  the  happy  springtime  flowers 

Are  out  peeping  on  the  hill. 

And  the  May-time,  blushing  May-time ! 

All  the  poets  sing  of  thee — 
'T  is  the  love-time  and  the  play- time, 

And  the  world  is  glad  and  free. 

Then  the  summer,  with  its  tickets 

For  the  concert  nights  of  June, 
With  the  whip-poor-wills  and  crickets 

And  the  katydids  in  tune. 

As  in  this,  so  in  its  follows, 
Through  the  harvest,  gone  too  soon, 

They  are  singing  in  the  hollows, 
Just  beneath  the  mystic  moon. 


60  KISSED  HIS  FROWN  AWAY. 


KISSED  HIS  FROWN  AWAY. 

A  LITTLE  boy  and  little  maid 
Were  on  the  beach  at  play, 
He  wore  a  frown,  for  a  dashing  wave 

Played  havoc  with  its  spray ; 

But  the  little  maiden  tiptoed  up 

And  kissed  his  frown  away. 

The  years  passed  on,  as  years  will  do, 
When  Cupid  came  their  way ; 

But  a  quarrel  rose,  as  quarrels  will  — 
His  brow  was  ashen  gray, 

When  loving  hands  drew  down  his  face 
And  kissed  his  frown  away. 

So  on  they  went  through  ripening  years 
Till  auburn  locks  were  gray, 

When  trouble  came  —  a  growing  debt  — 
Without  a  cent  to  pay. 

But  she  was  there,  with  her  gray  hair, 
To  kiss  his  frown  away. 


KISSED  HIS  FROWN  AWAY.  61 

Then  came  the  time  in  withered  age, 

His  life  was  but  delay ; 
His  frame  was  racked  with  cruel  pain, 

While  all  the  world  was  gay ; 
But  she  stooped  o'er  with  hidden  tears 

And  kissed  his  frown  away. 

And  when  they  meet  on  lawns  of  ease 

Upon  some  hallowed  day, 
If  frowns  there  are  beyond  this  life, 

With  him  they  'd  never  stay ; 
With  heavenly  grace  she  'd  lift  her  face 

And  kiss  his  frown  away. 


62  TO-NIGHT. 


TO-NIGHT. 

YOU  would  speak  to  me  to-night 
In  a  confidential  tone : 
You  would  tell  me  of  a  fight 
In  your  bosom  all  alone. 

You  would  tell  me  of  a  fear 
That  was  long  since  realized,  — 

Something  said  to  bring  a  tear 
That  was  formally  despised. 

You  would  speak  to  me  to-night 
While  the  clock  is  striking  eight? 

You  should  speak  to  me  to-night : 
Pretty  soon  will  be  too  late. 

Pretty  soon,  and  comes  the  hour 
Deepened  slumber  shadows  me ; 

Pretty  soon,  and  human  power 
Could  not  listen  sensibly. 


TO-NIGHT.  63 


You  would  speak  to  me  to-night 
While  the  shadows  gather  round? 

Speak  of  some  long-cherished  right 
That  would  add  to  love  profound? 

Just  a  word,  —  I  know  it 's  small ; 

But  relief  to  burdened  hearts  — 
Little  tones  that  gently  fall 

With  a  thousand  loving  arts. 

You  would  speak  to  me  to-night 

Of  anticipated  fear? 
It  might  bring  to  you  a  light 

And  relieve  me  of  a  tear. 

Just  a  word  that  soothingly 
Brings  some  penitent  delight. 

Do  not  keep  it ;  for  I  see 
You  would  speak  to  me  to-night. 


64  BLOTTED  PAGES. 


BLOTTED  PAGES. 

DARKLY  o'er  these  varied  leaves 
That  I  'm  turning  one  by  one, 
Fall  the  shadows  of  the  trees, 
Playing  fortune  with  the  sun. 

As  a  faint  reluctant  breeze 
Sways  the  branches  to  and  fro, 

On  the  pages  through  these  trees 
Spots  of  sunshine  come  and  go. 

Then  anon  some  happy  thought, 
Now  revealed  within  the  light, 

Fades,  beneath  the  shadow  caught, 
As  a  traveler  in  the  night. 

Fades  and  leaves  the  anxious  heart 

In  an  agony  of  pain : 
While  the  tears  of  hopeless  art 

Fall  as  silently  as  rain. 


BLOTTED  PAGES.  65 

Ah !  this  serious  book  of  life, 

With  its  calendar  of  years, 
Is  a  volume  full  of  strife 

Sadly  blotted  with  our  tears. 

When  we  turn  its  last  lorn  pages, 
With  a  trembling  hand  to  save : 

Though  we  're  numbered  'mong  the  sages, 
We  are  tottering  o'er  the  grave. 

Still  forgive ;  there  is  some  spark 

For  a  sad  soul  sure  to  be ; 
Like  a  lighthouse  in  the  dark 

For  the  lost  ship  on  the  sea. 

These  are  teardrops  —  that  is  all  — 
Some  of  joy  and  some  of  pain — 

That  on  every  page  must  fall — 
Fall  as  silently  as  rain. 


TOYS. 


TOYS. 


I  RE  AD,  reread,  and  read  again, 
Till  filled  with  varied  lore 
I  tossed  each  book  quite  rudely  down  - 

My  thoughts  dashed  on  before ; 
I  read  of  Burns  and  angel  songs, 

Of  goblins  in  dark  lanes ; 
Of  nightly  meetings  of  young  hearts 
Upon  the  tumbling  plains. 


I  read  of  lovers  at  the  gate, 

Whose  souls  hung  on  a  sigh, 
Or  yet  of  nearer  parting  kisses 

Beneath  a  silver  sky ; 
I  read  of  kings  and  queens,  and  all  — 

The  brilliant  pageant  comes— 
And  then  I  turned  to  other  kings  — 

The  heroes  of  the  slums. 


TOYS.  .  67 

Till  in  a  labyrinth  of  thought 

I  tossed  them  all  aside, 
And  wondered  if  I  lived  to  die 

Or  lived  on  when  I  died : 
I  wondered  if  the  world  was  made 

To  cut  a  caper  on, 
And  whether  we  are  playthings 

Of  others  that  are  gone. 


68  THE    CROWD. 


THE  CROWD. 

FAR  with  a  glimmering, 
Silently  simmering, 
Comes  a  faint  light. 
Spreading  out,  flashing  in, 
Morning  comes  dashing  in 
After  the  night. 

Rising  from  slumber  then, 
Worldly  encumbered  men 

Pass  to  their  work : 
Onward  so  busily, 
Often  so  dizzily  — 

Daring  not  shirk. 

These  so  unfortunate ; 
Those  so  importunate ; 

Silently  move : 
Some  so  unsteadily ; 
Rising  yet  readily 

Recklessness  prove. 


THE    CROWD. 


Other  men  fortunate  — 
Meanly  extortionate, 

Loudly  exclaim. 
Smiling  so  fraudfully, 
Living  not  laudably, 

Speak  the  proud  name. 

Some  in  their  humbleness. 
Silent  and  mumbleless, 

Striving  along : 
Each  in  his  narrow  plain  — 
Living  not  all  in  vain  — 

Sings  a  sad  song. 

Hopeless,  unspirited, 
Sadness  unmerited, 

Clouding  their  lot. 
Spurned  for  their  unbelief ; 
God  pities  their  grief  — 

He  notices  not. 

Some  seek  the  heights  of  fame- 
Hunting  for  mountain  game 

On  to  the  end : 
Striving  on  fatefully, 
Living  ungratefully  — 

Try  to  ascend. 


70  THE    CROWD. 


Seeming  superior ; 
Really  inferior — 

Stealing  their  way : 
Thoughts  so  abhorable ; 
Hearts  so  deplorable, 

Holding  their  sway. 

Mocking  divinity, 
E'en  to  infinity,  — 

Heavenly  dressed : 
Praying  so  mournfully ; 
Sadly  and  lornf ully  — 

Outwardly  blessed. 

But  should  we  look  again 
Into  the  souls  of  men, 

Seeking  divine. 

Changed  then  the  scene  would  be  - 
Heartlessness  we  should  see 

Dressing  so  fine. 

Then  to  the  gutter  go, 
Pull  back  the  shutter  low — 

What  do  you  see? 
Sights  that  would  shock  the  soul 
Now  on  the  vista  roll  — 

Mad  as  the  sea. 


THE    CROWD.  71 


Pitiful  sanity ! 
Blackest  profanity !  — 

Mournfully  lost ! 
Fooled  by  a  worldly  kiss, 
Hiding  the  serpent's  hiss,  — 

Led  to  the  cost. 

Thus  have  the  spirits  passed 
0  'er  the  mind  world  aghast, 

Varied  as  leaves 
Sighing  in  forest  trees, 
Swayed  by  the  summer  breeze  — 

God-given  leaves. 

Mistily,  dreamily, 
Mystical  seemingly 

Vanish  in  shrouds : 
Vanish  and  come  again 
Millions  of  different  men  — 

Veiled  up  in  clouds. 

Wonderful  world  of  dreams ! 
God !    0,  how  strange  it  seems !  — 

Life  on  a  star, 
While  all  around  about 
Wheeling  their  circuit  route 

Millions  afar ! 


72  THE    CROWD. 


Gemming  the  sky  at  night, 
Lighting  the  angels'  flight 

'Mong  all  the  worlds. 
Each  with  its  spirits  rife, 
Earth-like  perhaps  in  life, 

Strivingly  whirls. 

Think  of  it  wonderingly, 
Not  of  it  blunderingly  — 

Space-wide  and  deep ; 
Then  as  the  glimmering 
Dies  faintly  simmering, 
Lie  down  to  sleep. 


THE  LAST  MEMBER.  73 


THE  LAST  MEMBER. 

THE  ship  has  landed  and  they  've  gone- 
Gone  out  into  the  world 
With  the  first  faint  streaks  of  dawn 
And  their  flags  of  hope  unfurled. 

Gone  on  down  the  streets  of  time 
Like  some  morning  walkers  grim ; 

Gone  on  with  their  hopes  sublime — 
Hopes  that  must  and  will  grow  dim. 

And  while  their  footsteps  linger  still, 

With  a  solemn  echoed  tone, 
Each  upon  his  separate  will — 

Let  us  cast  one  life  alone. 

Who  can  tell  as  with  the  years 
Onward  sweeps  the  tide  of  life, 

If  with  joy  or  if  with  tears 
He  shall  look  back  on  the  strife? 


74  THE  LAST  MEMBER. 

When  adown  some  far  lone  isle 
Of  the  great  ancestral  hall, 

This  last  member  for  a  while, 
Gazing  on  the  pictured  wall , 

There  shall  see  some  honored  face  — 
His  companion  long  ago — 

With  its  features  full  of  grace, 
Looking  smilingly  below. 

Then  the  recollections  come 
Of  the  school-days  of  their  youth ; 

And  he  thinks  in  language  dumd 
'T  was  the  fairy  time  of  truth. 

He  remembers  then  of  old 

The  old  school-bell's  joyous  tone ; 

And  the  names  that  were  enscrolled 
Long  ago  upon  the  tomb. 

Of  that  proudest  day  of  all, 

When  eleven  students  stood 
In  the  great  and  crowded  hall 
And  were  crowned  for  earthly  good ; 


THE  LAST  MEMBER.  75 

Of  the  later  days  that  came, — 
They  were  crowned  with  other  things : 

Not  with  thorny  wreaths  of  fame, 
But  with  honor  wisdom  brings. 

Then  he  thinks  of  after  years, 
When  the  raven  locks  turned  gray ; 

And  he  breaks  down  into  tears,  — 
He  must  go  as  well  as  they. 


76  THE  SENIOR'S  DREAM. 


THE   SENIOR'S   DREAM. 

A  SENIOR  round  him  drew  his  robes  of  night 
To  soothe  his  little  troubles  of  the  day. 
A  moment's  silent  thinking,  then  a  light 
From  dreamland,  loomed  the  darkness  far  away ; 
And  vanished  real  and  came  the  vision  play 
Of  fairies,  on  the  vista  of  a  dream. 

Ah,  such  a  dream !  so  soft,  so  still,  so  gay, 
Stole  on  the  panoramic  pictures.     'T  was  a  theme 
Beyond  a  poet's  pen,  so  mystic  did  it  seem. 

A  dainty  hand  a  sparkling  curtain  drew  ; 

A  pale,  soft,  silver  light  fell  on  the  scene ; 
A  thousand  evergreens  shone  bright  with  dew, 

That  twinkled  as  a  million  stars ;  a  sheen 

Of  golden  light  fell  slowly  in  between, 
So  that  one  side  was  white,  the  other  gold. 

An  avenue  where  twined  a  path  was  seen, 
And  at  the  farthest  end  a  castle  old, 
Where,   from  its  portals  then,  a  hundred  voices 
rolled. 


THE  SENIOR'S  DREAM.  77 

And  listening,  the  silvery  voices  sent 
To  him  the  sweet  and  phantom  music.    Then 

Each  wavering  echo  stealing  onward  went 
Slow  trailing  down  some  deep  and  quiet  glen 
To  distant  sleeping  silence,  where  and  when 

Each  follow  came,  and  dying,  sank  beside 
Its  phantom  sister,  speaking  ne'er  again. 

Even  as  hopes  these  transient  echoes  glide, 

That  have  forever  risen,  and  as  surely  died. 

Then  by  the  unseen  wings  of  rising  hope, 
Into  the  castle  hall  he  's  swiftly  borne, 

Where  every  hoarded  sorrow  did  elope, 
And  every  happy  pleasure  did  adorn, 

And  doubt  was  left  a-sleeping,  all  forlorn. 

The  spacious  hall  in  brilliant  luster  shone 
In  gold  and  white  —  a  paradise  of  morn. 

And  still  the  subdued  choruses  unknown 

Fill  up  the  corridors  with  sweet  angelic  tone. 

So,  wandering  long  the  pictured  galleries 
With  fays  and  sylphs  and  fairies,  that  attend, 

He  nears  a  white-robed  company,  and  sees 
A  marble  throne,  in  which  all  colors  blend ; 
And  o'er  it  hung  a  curtain  to  defend, 


78  THE  SENIOR'S  DREAM. 

But  now  drawn  back,  that  to  his  eye  revealed 
The  queen  of  fame,  who  bade  him  to  ascend, 
And  while  triumphant  bells  are  pealed 
He  's  crowned  a  king  of  thought  and  wakened  as 
he  kneeled. 


DO  NOT  HIDE   THY  TEARS.  79 


DO  NOT  HIDE  THY  TEARS. 

DO  not  hide  thy  heart-felt  tears  from  me, 
Sweet  friend  of  mine  —  those  tears  that 

seem  divine  — 
Speak  them — shed  them  e'er  the  sea 

Rolls  in  upon  the  sanded  line, 
Washing  prints  of  love  from  off  the  sand 

Of  two  hearts  one ;  or  welded  into  thine ; 
Or  into  mine,  whilst  wandering  on  the  strand, 
'Neath  gleam  of  hope  and  doubt  of  fears, 
Do  not  hide  thy  tears. 

Drawn  from  eve  the  angel  lights  away — 
Then  swelling  to  our  hearts  from  depths  un- 
known— 

Sweet  depths  where  fairy  lovers  play 
With  Naiad  ropes  of  feeling  all  alone — 

They  rise — the  saddened  melancholy  tears — 
And  speak  for  thee  to  God  in  undertone ; 

And  He  would  send  another,  sharing  fears 

With  thee ;  and  kindly  says : — "It  more  endears, 
Do  not  hide  thy  tears." 


80  DO  NOT  HIDE  THY  TEARS. 

Thoughts  that  wake  the  very  depths  of  me — 
The  feeling  thoughts,  and  chase  them  to  my  lips 

To  lisp  them  in  a  childish  song  of  thee, 
Are  pleading  with  humble  lingual  slips 

To  share  thy  pain  and  sorrow  evermore. 
And  why  wouldst  thou,  with  finger  tips 

Just  resting  in  my  palm,  deny  what  I  implore, 

Forgetting  we  are  friends  through  all  the  years? 
Do  not  hide  thy  tears. 


And  why  wouldst  thou,  as  sadly  to  express 

In  those  far  dreaming  eyes  of  thine, 
So  innocent  of  guile,  defending,  not  confess 
Thy  bleeding  heart,  and  place  thy  hand  in  mine, 
Saying  bravely :  I  will  try  and  from  this  hour 

No  hidden  coil  of  weeping  shall  entwine 
This  throbbing  heart —  all  trembling  in  its  power. 
These  secret  drops  commingle  with  thy  fears ; 
Do  not  hide  thy  tears. 


DO  NOT  HIDE  THY  TEARS.  81 

As  gliding  happy  waters  go  laughing  to  the  sea 

To  clasp  their  mother  ocean  in  embrace, 
Yet  rise  again  and  mingle  tears  with  thee 

And  her,  and  all,  and  all  their  lives  retrace ; 
So  shedding  thine  with  mine,  a  crystal  stream 
Of  happy  tears  goes  gliding  to  another  silent 

place, 

The  happier  for  company  in  dream  ; — 
Goes   singing  into  heaven ;  sacred  tears,   loving 
tears ; 

Do  not  hide  thy  tears. 


82  IN  DREAMLAND. 


IN  DREAMLAND. 

IN  dreamland's  fairy  ship  of  state  I  rode ; 
Away  through  misty  realms  it  took  its  way ; 
A  world  where  mind  is  king  its  vista  showed. 
Where  fancies  with  their  own  sweet  visions  play ; 
And  as  the  gauzy  sails  so  light  and  gay 
Were  spread  before  the  happy  breeze  of  thought, 
All  worldly  thoughts  of  sorrow  sped  away ; 
Each  pang  dimmed ,  fainter  grew ,  and  died ,  or  sought 
The  air  and  fled  as  small  dark  clouds  the  wind 
has  caught. 

'Midst  softly  flowing  voices  and  sweet  tune, 

The  ship  has  paused  and  I  in  dream  explore 
This  paradise  of  dreamland  that  too  soon 

Will  vanish  in  the  mists  for  evermore. 

O  happy  land !  with  fairy  bordered  shore, 
And  spreading  grassy  lawns  and  fountains  clear, 

Where  naught  but  peace  and  pleasure  do  out- 
pour, 

0,  would  that  all  the  world  did  thus  appear ! 
And  I  with  thee  could  dwell,  not  knowing  worldly 
fear. 


IN  DREAMLAND.  83 

Oh !  would  that  I,  entranced  as  I  am  here, 

Might  rove  at  leisure  'cross  thy  shaded  plain ; 
Might  wander  o'er  thy  level  glades  so  dear, 
And  dwell  within  the  castles  of  my  brain. 
Upon  thy  fairest  dimpled  lawn  I  've  lain, 
Surrounded  by  the  graceful  evergreen ; 

All  round  about  the  perfumed  fountains  rain, 
Where  shooting  high  their  purest  crystal  sheen, 
The  air  with  fragrance  fill  and  show  a  beauteous 
scene. 


Near-by  my  visionary  castle  stands  — 

A  jeweled  palace  reared  by  fancy  sweet. 
There  's  none  so  pure  in  all  the  earthly  lands, 

So  grand !  in  structure,  form,  and  size  complete. 

The  massive  pillars  stand  with  molding  neat, 
Are  set  with  precious  diamonds  here  and  there : 

The  steps  are  gold,  the  floors  a  silver  sheet 
And  gemmed  with  pearls  and  other  jewels  rare, 
While  upward  flights  there  show  like  heaven's 
golden  stair. 


84  IN  DREAMLAND. 

Sweet  Cupid  fays  play  round  me  o'er  the  green, 

Or  flutter  in  and  out  the  palace  ways, 
Or  trip  fantastic  figures  down  between 

The  long-drawn  shades  to  please  me  in  their 
plays. 

But  fairest,  best  of  all,  upon  my  gaze : 
My  vision  ideal  of  face  and  form  and  soul 

Floats  through  the  perfumed  air  to  me  and  stays 
To  lave  my  dreamland  hour  with  floods  that  roll 
O'er  each  and  every  pain  that  seemed  beyond 
control. 

But  back  again  the  ship  must  take  its  flight : 

Yes,  swiftly  back  to  this  real  world  of  ours : 
We  leave  behind  the  pictured  theme  so  bright 
To  wend  our  worldly  way  of  toilsome  hours. 
And  who  would  not  have  sought  those  blissful 

bowers 
Where   thought    made    happiness    the    pleasing 

theme? 

O,  who  would  not  tread  fields  of  earthly  flowers 
In  preference  to  the  barren  plain ;  't  would  seem 
'T  were  better  than  to  weep  and  wail,  then  why 

not  dream? 


THE  HERMIT'S  EARLY  MORNING  REVERIE.       85 


THE  HERMIT'S  EARLY  MORNING 
REVERIE. 

SO  high  among  the  mountains  here, 
With  God  and  me  alone, 
The  wintry  days  will  soon  appear 
And  death  in  tears  bemoan. 

Remembrance  of  the  times  gone  by 

Make  plain  the  ones  to  come : 
The  often  changed  and  frowning  sky, 

That  speaks  in  language  dumb ; 

The  pelting  rain,  the  shifting  snow ; 

The  chilling  blasts  so  drear ; 
The  leafless  trees,  the  branch's  flow, 

Will  tell  that  winter  's  here. 

Perhaps  to-day  the  sky  is  clear, 

With  not  a  mar  in  view ; 
And  you  would  think  that  not  a  tear 

The  heavens  ever  knew : 


fr       THE  HERMIT'S  EARLY  MORNING  REVERIE. 

And  yet  the  morrow  brings  a  cloud, 

Which  slowly  larger  swells ; 
And,  shading  all  beneath  its  shroud, 

A  coming  storm  foretells. 

And  e'er  the  light  breaks  in  again, 

A  drizzling  rain  sets  in, 
When,  rousing  from  my  slumber  then, 

I  listen  from  within. 

The  patter,  patter  overhead, 

The  dripping  from  the  eaves, 
Makes  cozier  still  my  cozy  bed, 

Which  not  a  drop  receives. 

The  din,  the  din  upon  the  tin ; 

The  dripping,  dripping  down  ; 
The  gurgle,  gurgle  creeping  in 

From  gullies  running  down. 

The  trickle  in  the  tins  so  placed 

To  catch  the  water  pure ; 
The  splatter  of  the  running  waste 

My  dreamy  feelings  lure. 


THE  HERMIT'S  EARLY  MORNING  REVERIE.        87 

I  sleep  and  wake,  then  dream  again, 

And  wait  the  coming  day, 
Till,  mingling  with  the  drowsy  rain 

My  thoughts  unconscious  sway :  — 

Sway  back  to  other  rainy  nights, 

When  life  was  mostly  joy ; 
I  listened  to  these  keen  delights, — 

Such  music  to  a  boy. 

Sway  back  to  seek  another  dawn  — 

Another  by  my  side  — 
Alas !  dear  brother,  thou  art  gone, 

And  part  of  me  has  died . 

Those  dawns  we  woke  to  hear  the  rain, 

Soft  pattering  on  the  roof ! 
Before  the  day  had  lit  the  pane, 

Or  pierced  the  night's  black  woof. 

Those  dawns,  when  underneath,  we  knew 

That  others  slept,  or  woke 
To  hear  the  cock's  first  call  anew, 

Who  to  the  morning  spoke. 


5        THE  HERMIT'S  EARLY  MORNING  REVERIE. 

But  round  the  darkness  still  hung  low ; 

And  softer  fell  the  rain, — 
Still  softer  —  softer — into  snow 

That  brushed  the  window  pane. 

Alas !    Three  graves  upon  the  hill 

Have  gulped  those  others  down ; 
And  I  alone  await  God's  will 

Without  a  smile  or  frown. 

For  one  drear  winter  passed  to  March, 
Then  stopped,  dead  still,  in  pain, 

And  wailed  in  through  its  snow-trapped  arch 
With  sorrow,  sleet,  and  rain. 

And  e'er  time  reached  the  next  December, 

Another  mound  was  made. 
Just  two  then  met  the  dying  ember, 

And  saw  the  ashes  laid. 

Still  yet  one  other  flowering  May — 

Just  near  the  perfect  June  — 
The  one  soul  left  me  dropped  away 

Into  the  mystic  swoon. 


THE  HERMIT'S  EARLY  MORNING  REVERIE.       89 

So,  brother,  father,  mother  gone, 

I  strayed  on  through  the  years, 
Passed  many  a  sad  and  wakeful  dawn 

With  heart-felt  silent  tears. 

Out  in  the  rain !    Out  in  the  rain ! 

The  leaves  drip  on  their  graves ; 
And  yet  their  slant  roofs  drip  no  pain ; 

'T  is  only  mine  that  craves. 

But  some  kind  murmur  whispered  low : 

"  Go,  seek  for  love  and  joy 
Out  in  the  world  —  the  passing  show  — 

Your  heart  is  sorrow's  toy." 

So,  far  I  went  and  shook  the  hand 

The  world  held  out  to  me. 
Ay,  grasped  it  feebly  —  half  unmanned 

By  all  its  mystery. 

The  world  was  kind,  though,  for  a  time, 

And  joy  came ;  so  did  love, 
For  all,  and  one,  and  into  rhyme 

My  soul  was  tuned  above. 


90        THE  HERMIT'S  EARLY  MORNING  REVERIE. 

Sweet  love  returned  is  made  of  bliss 
The  wedding  bells'  sweet  chiming, 

Sends  heaven's  raptures  into  this 
With  all  its  spirit  rhyming. 

A  year  passed  down,  and  she  and  I 
Passed  down  that  year  together  — 

Passed  on  beneath  a  varied  sky, 
From  fair  to  stormy  weather. 

Alas !    The  wind  had  swept  a  place : 

And  grave  old  winter  sighed, 
But  sapped  the  life-blood  from  her  face : 

And  spring  said  she  had  died. 

Long  years  and  lorn  have  passed  away :  — 

A  faith  comes  with  the  rain, 
That  somewhere  on  the  soul's  highway, 

I  '11  meet  my  loves  again. 

And  meanwhile  new  joys  have  grown  up :  — 

Ah,  no,  not  quite  so  dear : 
But  just  half  fill  life's  empty  cup 

Through  all  the  changing  year. 


THE  HERMIT'S  EARLY  MORNING  REVERIE. 


I  love  the  winter's  rousing  cold ; 

I  love  the  spring  and  song ; 
I  love  the  summer's  shining  gold, 

And  autumn's  whirling  throng. 

For  he  who  hears  the  season's  song, 

As  past  the  numbers  flit, 
Can  laugh  and  let  the  world  go  'long, 

Without  a  thought  of  it. 


92  DO   NOT  TREMBLE, 


DO  NOT  TREMBLE. 

•  "VO  not  tremble,  boy, 
-*— ^     When  thunders  knock  and  forests  shake ; 

The  whole  earth  trembling  seems  to  quake ; 

And  demon  fire  shoots  from  the  cloud. 
Do  not  tremble :  't  is  allowed. 

Do  not  tremble,  youth : 

Because  the  phantom  fame  floats  on  ahead : 
When  you  give  chase  you  find  it  fled : 
Tumultuous  floods  on  every  side : 

Do  not  tremble :  stem  the  tide. 

Do  not  tremble,  man : 

Lest,  when  your  gold  is  coffered  in  the  vault, 
Some  booted  robber  makes  assault : 
'T  is  gone ;  come  taunts  of  poverty : 

Do  not  tremble :  you  are  free. 

Do  not  tremble,  age : 

Because  death  angel  wings  beat  down  to  thee 

And  drag  you  to  that  dreaded  sea 

Whose  waves  gulp  clod  that  holds  the  soul  : 

Do  not  tremble : — let  it  roll. 


THE  STATUE  OF  FOLLY.  93 


THE   STATUE  OF  FOLLY. 


B 


)  Y  the  brookside  I  stood,  thinking 

Of  the  vastness  of  our  home, 
With  the  brooklet's  waters  drinking 

In  each  star  of  nature's  dome, 
When  a  fairy  angel  figure  sat  uprightly  on  the 
foam. 

She  was  white  as  alabaster 

In  a  vessel  near  the  shore ; 
And  my  heart  beat  fast  and  faster 

Than  it  ever  had  before,  — 

'Twas  a  vision  of  such  beauty  that  I  could  not 
help  adore. 

Not  a  ribbon  looped  her  tresses :  — 
Just  a  wreathing  of  fresh  flowers. 
Robed  in  fair  and  sylphlike  dresses, 

Just  from  out  some  dreamland  bowers'; 
And  I  gazing  on  the  picture  felt  a  failing  of  my 
powers, 


94  THE  STATUE  OF  FOLLY. 

Felt  the  soul  die  out  with  sighing, 

As  a  faint  star  in  the  morning, 

When  the  saddened  night  is  dying, 

And  its  darkened  pall  is  torn. 
So  I  knelt  there  on  the  sand-har  with  imploring 
all  forlorn. 

Words  of  tenderness  I  uttered, — 

Burning  words  from  out  my  heart ; 
Pleading  there  I  stooped  and  muttered 

Words  beyond  an  earthly  art ; 
But  she  moved  not,  and  she  spoke  not,  and  she 
gave  no  sign  nor  start. 

Still  I  spoke  on  blindly,  madly, 

While  the  moonlight  flooded  o'er ; 
And  the  breezes  sighed  on  sadly 

By  the  brooklet's  babbling  shore ; 
But  this  Naiad  stared  out  blankly,  keeping  silent 
as  before. 

Then  a  chill  came,  and  I  shuddered 

Lest  a  dread  fear  might  be  real ; 
Like  a  lost  ship  all  unruddered 
All  my  senses  seemed  to  reel ; 
And  a  cloud-shade  falling  round  me  seemed  to 
spurn  me  with  its  heel. 


THE  STATUE  OF  FOLLY.  95 

Till  in  silent  desperation, 

Moved  by  some  ungainly  hand, 
With  a  wild  heart's  palpitation 

I  stepped  forward  on  the  land ; 
Reached  out  blindly;  found  it  marble;  just  a 
statue  on  the  sand. 


96  TO 


TO  . 

HOW  little  we  know  the  heart  of  another : 
Our  own  are  hard  to  explain. 
How  little  we  know  the  smile  of  a  brother 
May  not  have  been  costing  him  pain. 

Could  we  look  o'er  the  field  of  the  battle  of  hearts , 
Which  is  walled  to  the  questioning  eye, 

We  would  probably  see  what  we  never  did  see  — 
The  birth  of  the  deeds  and  the  why. 

We  would  probably  see  that  the  wrong  that  is 
done 

Is  done  in  the  shadow  of  right ; 
And  the  cause  of  defeat  is  the  lack  of  a  force 

In  the  mist  and  the  gloom  of  the  night. 

We  would  probably  see  that  the  battles  he  won 

Were  many  at  dawn  on  the  field ; 
But  the  enemy  rose  in  the  heat  of  the  sun, 

Outnumbered  and  forced  him  to  yield. 


TO  .  97 

So  lend  you  a  hand  to  the  stumbling  man, 
And  lift  up  your  sword  to  the  sky ; 

And  help  him  to  win  in  the  battle  of  night ; 
For  I  heard  from  the  heavens  a  cry : 

How  little  we  know  the  heart  of  another ; 

Our  own  are  hard  to  explain. 
How  little  we  know  the  smile  of  a  brother 

May  not  have  been  costing  him  pain. 


98  A  SONNET. 


A  SONNET. 

SAD  change :  when  joy  comes  thrilling  all  the 
land 

With  blessed  thoughts  of  olden  time  release, 

And  life  's  so  full  it  seems  'twill  never  cease, 
And  laughter  almost  holds  you  in  her  hand ; 
Never  to  lose,  no  more  to  leave  the  strand, 

Where  roams  pure  love,  and  where  the  doves  of 
peace 

Wing  near  their  flight,  and  all  fair  hopes  increase, 
Shedding  their  light  upon  the  golden  sand  — 

To  meet  and  face  to  face,  old  wrinkled  Death, 
With  fiendish  smile  of  triumph  and  uplifted  wing, 

Who  fans  your  face  with  zephyrs  of  hot  breath, 
And,  casting  shades  of  awful  suffering 

Over  the  wharf  where  joy  ships  anchoreth, 
Departs  and  leaves  the  soul  an  altered  thing ! 


SEPTEMBER.  99 


SEPTEMBER. 

KIND  September,  do  not  go, 
For  we  need  your  friendship  so : 
This  is  when  the  old  friends  meet — 
Red-faced  summer  and  autumn  greet. 
They  have  known  each  other  years ; 
Often  meet  in  silent  tears ; 
Often  shake  each  other's  hand  — 
Do  not  speak,  but  understand. 
Understand  that  many  days 
Must  go  by,  e'er  in  the  haze 
Of  this  time  they  meet  again  — 
Meet  and  greet  as  silent  men. 
So  they  often  linger  here 
As  two  lovers  by  the  mere  — 
Linger  till  October's  chill 
Drives  the  shepherd  from  the  hill. 
Linger  here,  and,  hand  in  hand, 
Do  not  speak,  but  understand. 
O,  we  need  your  friendship  so, 
Kind  September,  do  not  go. 


100  SMILES. 


SMILES. 

~¥~    ET  those  who  will  the  world  encumber 
-*-•     With  their  small  care  and  woe ; 
Be  not  yourself  among  the  number, 
But  light  the  face  with  cheerful  glow. 

Turn  on  the  world  a  painless  smiling  — 
'T  is  smiles  that  cheer  the  heart ; 

And  all  the  time  sad  souls  beguiling 
Bid  pain  and  sorrowing  depart. 

But  if  at  times  the  heart  seems  breaking, 

You  cannot  bid  it  cease, 
Turn  not  to  man  to  soothe  its  aching, 

Go,  shrive  yourself  to  bring  release. 

Go,  hide  and  bask  beneath  the  glowing 

Of  angel  smiles  above, 
Till  thrilling  through  with  inward  knowing 

You  smile  a  smile  of  peace  and  love. 


SMILES.  101 


A  smile  that  with  its  cheerful  token 

May  soothe  another's  pain ; 
A  smile  that  says  when  chains  are  broken 

You  lived,  you  loved,  and  not  in  vain. 

A  smile  that  wins  amidst  the  calling 

Of  angels  at  the  door, 
In  accents  softly,  sweetly  falling, 

A  welcome  here  for  evermore. 


102  MY  GUERDON. 


MY   GUERDON. 

THOUGHTS,  weird  and  silent  chase,  along, 
Fancies  shaped  from  out  my  life, 
Sing,  sing  faintly,  in  one  forgotten  song ; 

Hope  rises  from  its  humble  bed  of  strife, 
Staring  proudly  on  the  morn. 

Ah !  hope  and  fate  and  strife  and  pain 
Had  been  dying  all  forlorn, 

Did  not  a  lingering  spark  remain. 
Thou  hast  been  my  guerdon,  Love, 

Walking  heart  in  heart  with  me ; 
And  with  the  twittering  birds  above 

I  join  in  praise  of  thee. 

No,  no,  not  praise :  for  what  is  praise? 

Better  have  a  loving  heart  to  feel 
A  better  life,  when,  in  the  autumn  days, 

All  silently,  we  at  some  altar  kneel. 
Ah,  praise  so  dank  and  dead  and  dark ! 

O  love,  so  full  of  hope  and  light ! 


MY  GUERDON.  103 


When  eyes  love  eyes  with  every  kindled  spark, 
And  hands  clasp  hands  in  silent  slumbering 
night,— 

Woven  into  mine,  woven  into  thine — 
Stars  rise,  and  the  moon  with  happy  tears 

Full  of  ecstasy  and  Godly  song, 
With  music,  music  dead  to  other  ears 

Floods  are  souls  and  twangs  each  tended  thong. 

Now  breaks  the  morn  with  ripening  corn  ; 

To  pluck  the  golden  ears  is  ready  ease ; 
A  wondrous  harvest  would  the  world  adorn, 

If  but  the  hand  of  love  did  all  appease. 
Life,  0  life !  come  ring  your  sounding  bell 

That  echoes  from  this  earth  to  heaven's  door 
Will  break  the  silence,  stir  the  gates  of  hell,  — 

The  visionary  gates,  that  beauty  hates  — 
Aye,  banish  them,  and  love  what  God  creates. 

But  even  I  must  help  to  ring  the  bell  — 
The  bell,  where  apathy  still  hangs  with  heavy 
weight, 

King,  ring  loudly  from  every  sounding  celL 


104  MY  GUERDON. 


I  hear  the  battling  chain  of  earth 

Clanking,  clanking  on  the  rocks : 
Blood  kindles  in  the  veins  of  worth 

To  ope  the  gate  that  wisdom  locks. 
But  now  the  trailing  sun  is  low,  — 

I  hear  the  whisk  of  tired  wings, 
And  close  beside  I  feel  a  glow 

And  a  gentle  voice  that  sings  : 
"  Art  thou  yet  my  own,  my  love?  " 

And  the  world  fades  with  all  it  brings. 

And  there  in  the  soothing  dusk  of  eve, 

Clasped  closely  in  embrace, 
We  watch  the  world,  and  trustingly  believe  - 

The  moon  and  stars  each  in  its  place  — 
Forgotten  all  the  hollow  voice 

That  speaks  for  worldly  weal. 
Love,  love  deeply  for  only  one  of  choice ;  — 

As  when  your  passioned  whispers  steal 
Unto  my  soul — as  lovers  stroll, 

Or  as  cooling  water  unto  thirsty  throats, 
Or  as  gentle  music  floats 

Upon  the  evening  air, 
Filling  up  the  deepened  cells  of  care. 


MY  GUERDON.  105 


Age,  gray  hairs,  and  wrinkles  on  my  brow: 

The  world  cares  naught  for  me. 
With  trust  I  turn,  with  trust  renew  my  vow, 

With  what  sweet  trust  I  turn  to  thee, 
As  welling  up  through  all  the  loving  years. 

With  hair  that  mingles  gray  with  gray, 
We  clasp  each  other  then,  and  loving  lose  our 
tears, 

And  turn  our  happy  thoughts  along  the  way. 
Hope,  joy,  faith,  and  sure  regard, 

Love  deepens  into  a  stream, 
Flowing  calmly  through  the  teeming  sward, 

We  float  out  on  a  dream. 


106  THE  WAY  OF  LIFE. 


THE   WAY  OF  LIFE. 

WE  sometimes  feel 
As  we  journey  along, 
Like  breaking  away 

From  the  right  to  the  wrong. 
The  road  is  so  steep 

And  the  sun  is  so  hot, 
That  we  sometimes  think : 

Is  it  better  or  not, 
To  toil  on  ahead 

To  that  green  everglade, 
Or  drop  down  and  rest 

Forever  in  shade? 

We  sometimes  feel 
That  't  is  better  to  gain 

The  pleasures  of  life, 
Whatever  the  pain ; 

To  gather  the  flowers 
Of  indolent  ease, 


THE  WAY  OF  LIFE.  107 

Though  the  sun  on  the  morrow 

Bring  shameful  release : 
Than  to  bear  up  against 

This  mountain  of  toil, 
And  shoulder  our  share 

Of  the  earth's  turmoil. 

'T  is  the  weakness  of  life — 

The  childish  complaint 
To  be  free  of  the  strife 

And  the  bitter  constraint ; 
But  we  never  can  get 

Or  we  never  can  gain, 
But  the  world  is  the  better 

For  our  toiling  and  pain. 
Let  us  live  for  the  world, 

Not  heaven's  reward ; 
If  to  dust  we  return, 

Let  it  be  the  greensward. 


108  A    VOICE  RETURNED. 


A  VOICE   RETURNED. 

I  TURNED  from  my  heart  in  the  darkness 
And  uttered  my  soul  out  alone ; 
For  hope  lay  staring  in  starkness ; 

Seemed  cold  and  dead  as  a  stone. 
How  heavy  the  doubts  that  encumber 

With  deep-rooted  fear  and  with  pain ! 
Yet  flock  o'er  the  soul  without  number 

And  darken  this  surge  of  its  main. 
So  I  spoke  in  despair,  and  then  listened 

While  the  world  in  its  silence  stole  on ; 
For  I  thought,  from  the  darkness  unglistened 

Came  a  sound  from  a  voice  that  is  gone. 

Was  it  the  rustle  of  leaves  that  fluttered  ? 

Or  the  sigh  of  the  wind  in  the  trees? 
'T  was  surely  a  syllable  uttered, 

Though  wafted  away  by  the  breeze. 
I  could  not  have  heard  and  mistaken 

A  voice  I  have  known  as  a  child 


A    VOICE  RETURNED.  109 

(Ah,  how  well  I  have  known) :     So,  unshaken, 

I  listened  and  peered,  unbeguiled ; 
A  hush,  and  the  silence  was  broken, 

And  afar,  with  the  peep  of  the  dawn, 
So  full  of  encouragement  spoken, 

Came  the  words  from  the  voice  that  is'gone : 

"  Be  brave  in  your  nebulous  dwelling, 

And  smile  on  the  world  and  its  care ; 
For  sorrow  is  borrowed  in  selling 

Thy  soul  to  the  demon  despair ; 
And  happiness,  hope,  and  devotion, 

Will  rise  from  their  adamant  form, 
If  you  throw  from  your  fancy  the  notion 

That  your  ship  is  alone  in  the  storm. 
Be  brave  in  mortality's  session ; 

Your  motto  be  forward  and  on ; 
For  this  is  the  hope  in  confession," 

Were  the  words  from  the  voice  that  is  gone. 


110  THE  SAND-LILY. 


THE    SAND-LILY. 

WHERE  the  plain  is  the  barest, 
A  flower  the  fairest 
Has  lifted  its  head. 
Where  the  dunes  have  been  drifted 
By  the  sand  that  is  sifted  — 
All  others  are  dead. 

There  the  serpents  are  gliding 
Like  demons  in  hiding, 

But  never  infest ; 
For  the  grace  of  the  flower 
In  sultriest  hour 

Is  sacred  and  blest. 

Alone  in  its  beauty, 
As  if  conscious  of  duty, 

It  droops  a  fair  face ; 
And  yet,  reconciling 
All  around  with  its  smiling 

Of  infinite  grace. 


THE  SAND-LILY.  Ill 

In  the  midst  of  the  glimmer 
Of  heat,  and  the  simmer 

Of  desert  and  death, 
Its  purity  blesses 
The  air  it  caresses 

With  every  sweet  breath. 

Like  the  soul  that  is  purest 
Of  all  that  endurest, 

The  sand-lily  blows ; 
Like  the  soul  that  is  whitest 
Where  the  touch  of  sin  blightest, 

In  the  desert  it  grows. 


112  TWO  HANDS. 


TWO  HANDS. 

WITH  weary  tread  came  one  from  out  the 
fields : 
Rough  hands  he  had,  all  seamed  with  marks  of 

toil. 

A  thrifty  stranger  drew  away  in  scorn 
To  grasp  that  roughened  palm ;  yet  well  it  was, 
For  drops  of  life  blood  cling  within  those  mouths. 
All  bowed  was  he  —  the  owner  of  this  hand — 
Still  lower  bowed  to  see  the  soft  white  one 
Whose  tapered  fingers  bore  bright  rings  of  gold 
Well  set  with  precious  stones.     Hard  years  of  life 
Upon  another's  finger  stared  at  him ; 
Long  groaning  nights  that  follow  days  of  strain 
Had  paid  in  soul  a  fiend's  own  price  for  these. 

And  lower  still  in  humbleness  he  bowed 
When  he,  the  two,  with  startled  glance  compared : 
His  own  he  sees,  a  lifeless-looking  chip  — 
Sun-cracked  and  dead ;  the  other  smooth  and  fair. 
Ah,  where 's  the  tongue  can  tell  the  bitter  pangs 
Of  lost  hopes  in  that  weary  broken  look? 


TWO  HANDS.  113 


Whose  brush  can  picture  all  his  stifled  woe? 
Whose  pen  divine  can  tell  it  o'er  again? 
He  spoke  no  word,  but  seemed  to  gaze  in  pain, 
Or  awful  dread,  across  the  desert  past; 
Or  down  the  darkening  future,  all  alone, 
And  side  by  side  two  hands  contrasted  there : 
Two  hands  then,  when  both  were  young  and  fair ; 
Two  hands  now,  when  both  are  turned  apart ; 
Two  hands  soon,  when  both  enfolded  lie. 

There  was  no  need  to  look  again :  deep-sered 
In  recollection,  two  shapes  burned  apart 
Upon  the  dead,  dank  wall  of  memory. 
His  sharp  woe  buried  in  his  bosom  bare ; 
His  life  track  black  and  misty  on  ahead ; 
He  stood  in  moody  reverie. 
And  envy  born  from  this  ill-mated  pair 
Looked  in  upon  his  soul,  and  then  looked  out 
Through  eyes  aglow  with  one  hot  flash  of  flame. 
—  As  powder  thrown  upon  an  ash-blown  coal — 
Flashed  sudden  anger ;  then  a  flood  of  tears 
Bushed    hurrying    out,    but    quickly    dammed 

within, 

It  never  reached  the  lash.     His  bosom  heaved, 
And  with  one  sigh  he  went  back  to  his  field. 


114  TWO  HANDS. 


0  hand  of  sloth,  beware !  that  smoldering  fire 
So  long  beneath  the  shifting  ash  of  time 
May  flash  again  and  sere  your  perfect  mold. 
Some  lofty  one  has  said,  "  His  brain  is  dead  " 
—  This  owner  of  the  hand  so  seamed  and  rough  - 
But,  e'er  the  embers'  toil  are  wholly  dead, 
Some  mightier,  horny-handed  spirit  king, 
God-sent,  and  stalking  earthward  with  his  load, 
May  heap  a  pile  of  fuel  upon  this  fire, 
That  will  uproar  and  burn  a  wondrous  change. 


DO  BE  JOLLY.  115 


DO  BE  JOLLY. 

>  E  jolly  and  be  gay  ; 

That  surely  is  the  way 
To  drive  away  our  sorrow  and  our  care. 
Though  you  bear  a  heavy  load 
O'er  life's  uneven  road, 
Let  every  one  believe  that  you  no  burden  bear. 

Be  jolly  and  be  gay ; 

Be  cheerful  now,  to-day, 
Although  to-morrow  sees  you  die  in  pain. 

To  every  one  you  meet 

A  cheerful  word  repeat ; 
Let  not  your  tear-drops  give  another's  heart  a  stain. 

For  what 's  the  use  at  all, 

Of  doubling  all  the  gall 
That  penetrates  the  bosom  while  we  stay. 

Then  you  'd  better  shed  a  smile 

Upon  others  all  the  while, 

So  that  when  you  're  with  them,  they  '11  be  jolly 
and  be  gay. 


O  B  R  A  #> 

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YP     '  ^f  -1 
ID     I  <Ll  o  i 


